


Filling a Vacant Position

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Series: Transcendence AU [8]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2019-11-04 12:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: Because grief can feel like a full time job. A series of short, standalone oneshots set immediately after Mabel's death.





	1. Paperwork

                Death.

Nobody told Hank how routine it could feel. Visiting the funeral home. Ordering death certificates. Fielding so many calls from family, friends, news reporters… the whole world, it seemed, wanted to tell him how sorry they were to hear about his mother.

                “I know.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Yes, she was an amazing woman.”

                “No, we’re not interested in an interview at this time.”

                Today he was meeting with their lawyer and running over the will again. Mabel had requested her ashes be mixed in with glitter at the local factory and shipped to craft stores the world over, and that was causing some… legal headaches. Also, some of her wishes were a little unorthodox. He’d probably have to reassure the lawyer that yes, Mabel was of sound mind when she decided to bequeath approximately five thousand gnome hats to the Gleeful family.

                (There was no way Mabel had this much trouble sorting out Henry’s will. Maybe Stan’s. Yeah, he was glad he wasn’t sorting out Stan’s.)

                And then when that was done, he’d go home, and he’d work on the funeral arrangements. Willow was mainly in charge of that, and though it wasn’t like she was hurting for help – she’d enlisted literally everyone in the family, from Acacia's oldest daughter Josefa to the youngest tottering great-grandchild – Hank wanted to do whatever he could, for as long as he could.

                Because Mabel was dead, and any moment now it was going to hit him.

                Until then? Hank was writing guest lists, he was answering phones, he was booking venues, he was putting his arm around a sobbing Acacia, and holding everything together.

                “I know.”

                “She was an amazing mother.”

                “She’d be proud of you, sis.”

                “I love you too.”

                Day in, day out. It felt like he’d always been doing this.


	2. Long Hours

                Is it weird to say Mabel would love this? Making the decorations, sorting out the guest list, writing out all the name tags, typing up the speeches… planning a funeral wasn’t so different from planning any other party.

                Except in all the ways that it was, of course.

                Still, Mabel was a master of parties. The last one she did, the…

                …the very last one.

                Um, anyway, that was Willow’s grandchild’s wedding, Evelyn’s. Mabel went all out; Evie and Wanda got lifted up and carried by the whole town down to the Gravity Falls Lake. She’d made a deal with Uncle Dipper to put dolphins in the water – because of course – and to turn the rain into glitter. It drifted down like snow, and shimmered every colour as Evie took her vows. Willow remembered the big smile on her mother’s face as the two of them kissed.

                She remembered the smile on her own face, too. Such a beautiful day. Such a perfect day.

                (Afterwards, Mabel made another deal to put the dolphins back and clean up all the glitter that had accumulated in the forest. The guests weren’t so lucky; Willow was picking plastic out of her hair to this day.)

                Mabel had always been good at parties. Willow could remember back when she was a little kid, her mother sending her off to bed on the night of her birthday with a knowing grin. She and Hank and Acacia would stay up for hours, ears pressed to the ground, listening to her work, listening to mysterious sounds clang and clatter and chime downstairs. In the morning, the three of them would come on down and look on in amazement at the house, instantly transformed with streamers, balloons, bright colours matching the theme of whatever Mabel had chosen that year… it was magical.

                Even as Willow got older and started helping with those not-so-instant transformations, even as streamers and the sound of happy birthday lost that childhood spark, they never lost their magic.

                If anything, seeing all the effort Mabel put into everything she did made it that bit more magical.

                That night before Evie’s wedding.

                _And tonight_.

                Wedding flowers. Petals piled into baskets for the flower girls, yellow tulips wrapped with ribbons into beautiful bouquets.

_And the clutter of flowers now lying on the counter, pretty but missing something, somehow. Mabel and Henry’s wedding photo, placed in a plain white frame and propped up by a pile of pink roses still to be arranged._

                Writing out the last of the nametags. Mabel at the head of the dining table, fussing with Dipper about wearing her reading glasses as she took one last look at the guest list. Evie’s young daughter piping up above the chatter, saying, “They don’t make you look old, Gramma. That’s what your wrinkles are for!”

                Loud laughter, Mabel’s loudest of all.

                _And the silence here. So much family in one small room, and the rustle of scissors cutting paper is deafening. Hank sitting in the corner with his laptop, pouring over the seating arrangement or the security detail or the order the speeches are going in. His lips are downturned, and he just stares, the light of the screen reflecting off his reading glasses._

                _A tug on her sleeve._ A tug on her sleeve.

                Willow blinks.

                “Gramma Willow?” Evie’s daughter is looking up at her, a hand still clutching Willow’s arm. “How do you spell Acacia?”

                In front of Evie’s daughter is a pale pink card. ‘ACASH-‘ has been scrawled across the centre and then promptly scribbled out. Despite herself, Willow smiles.

                “Oh, that is a tricky name, isn’t it?” She reaches across the table (ow, her back twinges) and grabs another pink card. “Let’s try again. So, you’ve gotten the first three letters right. A, C, A… what next?”

                “Uhhh…”

                “Don’t worry. What makes a ‘shhh’ sound besides an S and an H? Do you know?”

                “No. What is it?”

                “It’s a C and an I.” Willow watched her write it down. “Good. Now, what’s the last letter? Ah-cay-shh-“

                “A! It’s an A!”

                “Yeah, you got it! Acacia. Nice job, kiddo!”

                Evie’s daughter is practically jumping up and down. “I did it! I did it!”

                “Nice job.” A voice from across the room. Hank is giving her a tired smile. “I couldn’t spell her name until I was almost out of elementary school.”

                Willow snorts. “Neither could she.”

                “Hah. I remember that, actually. She used to ask you if I spelled it right, and then she’d get mad at me if it wasn’t.” He shakes his head. “We were weird kids.”

                “Now you’re weird old people.” Evie’s daughter says, and a titter of laughter spreads across the room. Obliviously, she reaches for another card. “Who am I doing next? Mom?”

                Evie picks up a list. “Let’s see… oh, have you done your own name yet?”

                “Oh! I can do that! I can make it sooo pretty! This is gonna be the best name card ever!” She grabs a handful of coloured markers and drags them closer. “For the best funeral ever!”

                Willow catches her breath. She can see Evie freeze and shoot her a mortified look, though, so she keeps her smile on, reaches over, and ruffles her grandkid’s hair.

                “You’re right, kid. It’ll be the best funeral ever.” Willow looks back at the counter, at Mabel beaming down at her from her wedding photo.

                Her smile fades. “Yeah.” She says, and turns away. “The best.”

                Scissors rustle. Markers squeak. Willow gathers a bundle of roses, and ties together with a ribbon. She sets it on the table, and sighs.

                Just doesn’t have that same magic to it anymore.


	3. Please Leave Your Personal Issues at the Door

                A bit of a breeze tonight.

                Acacia sat on the porch in a rocking chair, and stared up at the sky. So many stars, so many more than the skies back at her house. The moon was a thick crescent, shining down on the trees and the grass and the tips of her shoes as she stretched them out to the edge of the porch.

                She rocked her chair, and listened to the rustling of the trees, that gentle sound that had put her to sleep many a night when she was a kid.

                At that, she snorted.

                “I’m such an old person now.”

                Before she knew it she’d be waving a cane and telling kids to get off her lawn. Acacia Castanenda, senior citizen! Hah! Wow, times had changed.

                Acacia’s smile faded. The rocking slowed.

                Times had changed.

                She felt that in her chest. In her throat, too; she scowled and tried to clear that strange lump because no, she was not going to start crying again, oh my god eye, stop going blurry you’re fine and-

                _Something was wrong_.

                Her hair stood on end, and the tears dried up with a blink as she sat forwards. Something had changed. She could feel it.

                But what?

                …The trees. They had stopped rustling. The wind had died down, and now it was very quiet, unnaturally quiet. The bugs and beasts and owls that roamed the forest of Gravity Falls had fallen silent like they were all holding their breath - never a good sign, that.

                Acacia stared out into the forest, squinting at the darkness, her hands gripping the arms of the rocking chair, ready to push herself up and go for that baseball bat stashed between the seat cushions of the sofa. She stared… and she saw something.

                A figure. There, by the trees. Just out of the moonlight, but there was a glint coming from it that had caught her eye.

                The glint of an axe. Acacia caught her breath, and followed its shadowy arm up, up to what may have been its head, and resting on that, a pair of antlers. It shifted, and a tip caught the moonlight – bone white it was, with a severed hand swaying from it.

                Acacia couldn’t see the Woodsman’s face, but she could _feel_ it staring at her.

She stared back.

                The forest held its breath, and for a long moment, it was silent.

                Then:

                “Knock, knock.”

                A voice, not an actual knock. The Shack door creaked open, and Acacia broke the standoff to see Reina stick her head outside.

                “There you are,” Reina said, something approaching a smile on her face. “You want a blanket? It’s cold out here.”

                “I’m fine.” Acacia managed, and then: “Thanks.”

                She thought Reina would go inside at that, but instead she pushed the door all the way open and stepped onto the porch. She stopped there, looked up at the stars, and then moved back and eased herself onto the couch with a groan.

                “Ugh. My knees.”

                Acacia glanced at the Woodsman, then back at Reina. She snorted. “You sound like an old lady.”

                “Yeah? Probably cause I am an old lady! And so are you – I hear you get out of bed every morning! You wake up the whole house with all your complaining!”

                “Hah!” She shook her head, and rocked once on the chair. “I guess we’re both old ladies. How’d that happen?”

                “I do not know, Acasita. I still think I’m twenty something.”

                “Do you still have that dream where you’re waking up and you look at the clock-“

                “-and you realize you’re late for work? Oh, my god, yes! It sucks!”

                “I was gonna say class, but yeah! Come on, brain, you’re lagging behind! Get with the times!”

                The two of them laughed loudly at that, the sound echoing off the trees and coming back to them. It kept echoing a little longer after they faded off and settled into a comfortable silence.

                Acacia turned and looked at the Woodsman again. It was still standing there, just out of the moonlight, its axe glinting and its head… it looked like it was tilted to the side. Listening to their laughter. As the echoes died away, it turned its head back. Now it was staring again, staring at her.

                A moment of hesitation. Then Acacia raised her hand, and waved.

                “Acacia?” Reina gave a nervous laugh. “Who’re you waving to?”

                She pointed, and watched Reina squint into the night. Watched her notice something, watched her eyebrows come down in a frown… and then up, up as the realisation hit.

                “Is that…”

                “Yeah.” Acacia said. Then she thought about how that sounded, and shook her head. “I mean, it’s not… it’s just the Woodsman. Not… you know.”

                “Oh.”

                Oh, indeed. Acacia could feel the Woodsman’s stare boring into her. The forest she knew to be so loud was still so very silent, and it set her teeth on edge.

                She stared back at the Woodsman, and pulled her lip back in a grimace.

                “He looks… a little lonely, doesn’t he.”

                Reina didn’t look like she could see it, but she nodded.

                “I’d invite him in for some tea. Wouldn’t you?” Acacia chuckled. “Don’t know if he’d fit through the door, but you know, I’d make it work. Put the kettle on, sit him down at the table with all the kids. I think he’d like that. Right?”

                “Yeah. It looks cold out there.”

                “Maybe he needs a blanket.”

                As they watched, the Woodsman turned abruptly. There was one more glint of its axe, one more severed hand swinging out and grazing the moonlight- and then it was gone. Dissolved into shadow.

                The trees began to rustle. An owl hooted. Crickets chirped, and Acacia sighed.

                “Welp. There he goes.”

                Reina had nothing to say to that. The two of them sat here, staring out into the woods. Reina breath out, and watched her breath condense and blow away on the breeze. She sat forwards, and with a grunt she lifted herself up onto her feet.

                Acacia looked over at her. “You headed inside?”

                “Yeah. The wind is a little cold for me.” She looked at Acacia, and there was that not-quite-a-smile again. “You coming?”

                The rocking chair rocked, and creaked. Acacia looked away.

                “…Nah.” She said, after a time. “The wedding photo’s still up on the counter, and you know I’ll start ugly crying if I see it again.”

                She laughed, but there was a tightness to it, because it wasn’t really a joke. A hand on her shoulder; Reina squeezed, and steadied the rocking. Then, she leaned down for a kiss.

                Their lips met, and Acacia wrapped an arm around her and held her tight, tighter than she normally would, and she tried to ignore that lump coming up her throat again. Reina held her just as tightly, and they didn’t let go for a long moment.

                Reina shivered, and only then did Acacia pull back.

                “You should go inside,” She said, and cracked a smile. “Don’t worry about me. You know I’m basically a furnace.”

                “Hah! Yeah, I know. I know.”

                Reina hesitated. And then she reached behind her, and unfurled a blanket. She draped it over Acacia’s legs, tucking her in like a kid in bed.

                “Just in case, Acasita.” She said, and Acacia smiled.

                “I love you.”

                “I love you too.”

                Reina gave her another kiss on the forehead, and then walked back inside, the Shack door creaking closed behind her. Acacia sat, and rocked, and stared out into the forest. All night, she listened to familiar sounds, she thought of familiar people, and she fought against a familiar lump in her throat.

                Somewhere in the trees, Acacia knew there was something else that felt just as lost as her.


	4. PTO

                Mabel’s funeral went smoothly, thank god. Hank had spent so long arranging the damn thing and he was a bundle of nerves the whole way through, but everything turned out okay.

                Okay.

                During reception, Hank wandered around and spoke to people. They asked him how he was doing, and he said “I’m okay.” They offered condolences, and he said “It’s okay.” They hugged him, and he hugged back - Lucy Ann in particular squeezed him so hard, he could feel it for the rest of the ceremony.

                After a time, they sat down in chairs with pretty little handwritten nametags. People came up and said words, and Hank was one of those people; he’d spent all night rehearsing his eulogy, and the sentences exited his mouth like products off a production line, one after the other after the other until he was done, and he sat back down.

                He fiddled with his nametag for the rest of the speeches. Bent the corners. Traced the letters.

                Looked to the right, where a chair sat empty beside him.

                Looked at its nametag, neatly written in cursive, lovingly doodled with stars and hearts and pieces of candy… and untouched, unread by the person whose name it bore.

                Uncle Dipper was not there, and his absence was louder than a million heartfelt speeches.

                Okay.

                The funeral went off without a hitch, and now… well, Hank supposed this was the mourning time. He didn’t have to plan anything anymore, Mabel’s will was pretty much sorted out, so he could take a step back from everything and just let it hit him, right?

                Right?

                The night after the funeral, though, Hank stared up at the ceiling, thought about Mabel, and felt… okay.

                Okay, but not really.

                Okay, like a sheet of paper just tossed onto a roaring fire.

                Okay, for now.

                Hank knew he wasn’t really okay;  _ his mother died,  _ and he was aware of a whole bundle of emotions dammed up inside him, ready to burst any day now... so could it  _ please _ just burst tonight? It felt like he was sitting on a bomb, waiting for it to explode; the anticipation was killing him and he just wanted to...

                To get it over with?

                Hank frowned. That didn’t sound quite right. He didn’t want to ‘get over’ Mabel; he  _ wanted _ to mourn her, he  _ wanted _ to cry, he  _ wanted _ that dam to burst and flood him with all the awful, agonising, heartwrenching, sob-inducing feelings locked up inside of him. He  _ wanted _ them to soak him, to sweep him away, to show him how much she meant to him and  _ how fucking deeply _ he missed her right now.

                His Mom was dead, and he  _ wanted so badly _ to feel not okay about it. The feelings he wanted were there... they were just distant. He didn’t know to reach them; he didn’t know if he could.

                So, okay.

                He stared up at the ceiling fan above him, at the moonlight glinting off its blades.

                All he could do was wait.

                Okay.

                Hank sighed, and rolled over in bed. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of the great weight that hung by the barest thread over his heart.

                Ready to snap.

                Ready to fall.

                Ready to destroy him, any day now.

_                 Any day now. _

_                 Any day now, please. _


End file.
